I turned over, to see if there was not another position in which it would be warmer, and began wishing for the thousandth time that the efforts for the amelioration of the horrors of warfare would progress to such a point as to put a stop to all Winter soldiering, so that a fellow could go home as soon as cold weather began, sit around a comfortable stove in a country store; and tell camp stories until the Spring was far enough advanced to let him go back to the front wearing a straw hat and a linen duster.
Then I began wondering how much longer I would dare lie there, before the Orderly Sergeant would draw me out by the heels, and accompany the operation with numerous unkind and sulphurous remarks.
This cogitation, was abruptly terminated by hearing an excited shout from the Captain: "Turn Out!--COMPANY L!! TURNOUT ! ! !" Almost at the same instant rose that shrill, piercing Rebel yell, which one who has once heard it rarely forgets, and this was followed by a crashing volley from apparently a regiment of rifles.
I arose-promptly.
There was evidently something of more interest on hand than the weather.
Cap, overcoat, boots and revolver belt went on, and eyes opened at about the same instant.
As I snatched up my carbine, I looked out in front, and the whole woods appeared to be full of Rebels, rushing toward us, all yelling and some firing.

My Captain and First Lieutenant had taken up position on the right front of the tents, and part of the boys were running up to form a line alongside them.

The Second Lieutenant had stationed himself on a knoll on the left front, and about a third of the company was rallying around him.
My chum was a silent, sententious sort of a chap, and as we ran forward to the Captain's line, he remarked earnestly: "Well: this beats hell!" I thought he had a clear idea of the situation.
All this occupied an inappreciably short space of time.

The Rebels had not stopped to reload, but were rushing impetuously toward us.

We gave them a hot, rolling volley from our carbines.